


Eden Prep

by beeawolf



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 03:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11523588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeawolf/pseuds/beeawolf
Summary: A series of oneshots. Excerpt:"Desmond," says Shaun, coming to a halt a few steps away. "What the hell are you doing?"Desmond doesn't bother to look up from his work, which so far reads 'ASSH.' "Keying my dad's car," he says."





	1. The Parking Pit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarknessChill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarknessChill/gifts).



> This is a series of oneshots set at a boarding school. Please don't ask me what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. There's gonna be romance. There's gonna be general silliness. There's gonna be historical figures involved in high school drama. This was never supposed to happen, I specifically said I would not let this happen, and yet here we are.

            Shaun finds Desmond in the mixed gravel-and-asphalt pit behind the hill at the back of the school, the one labeled 'FACULTY PARKING' even though only one person ever parks there. Sure enough there's the usual car there, a silver sports-thingy. It's got one of those idiotic golden license plate holders, to make sure you know the owner has money and isn't afraid to use it on stupid posturing.

            Desmond is kneeling beside the car. He has one of their antiquated brass dorm keys in his hand, which he's using to carefully scrape into the driver's side door.

            "Desmond," says Shaun, coming to a halt a few steps away. "What the hell are you doing?"

            Desmond doesn't bother to look up from his work, which so far reads 'ASSH.' "Keying my dad's car," he says.

            Shaun folds his arms and nods slowly. "Right," he says. "Right, I can see that. And what's the occasion?"

            "The occasion," says Desmond through grit teeth, "is that he's a fucking dick."

            "Right," Shaun says again. "But what's he done now?"

            "Does it matter?"

            "Well, yes, actually, if you're going to be expelled for it."

            Desmond just snorts and keeps at his noble work.

            Shaun considers Desmond. Furrowed brow, tight jaw, tense shoulders. He could keep pushing, but he doesn't particularly feel like a shouting match today. He's just come from World History, after all, and it's exhausting to correct your teacher for an hour straight. So he looks away from Desmond and considers the parking lot instead, looking up and down, checking for any...interruptions. It's still a while from lunch, so Principal Miles isn't going to be leaving anytime soon, not till the bell rings.

            But Eden Prep, for all its emphasis on Ancient Tradition, has some shockingly decent security cameras. So Shaun pulls out his phone.

            This, for some reason, is what finally makes Desmond look up. "If you text Lucy –" he starts, and Shaun interrupts him with an aggrieved sigh.

            "I'm texting Rebecca, you bloody idiot."

            Desmond narrows his eyes. "Why?"

            Shaun gestures at the clearly visible security cameras in the Parking Pit. "Because you're too stupid to do it yourself."

            Desmond scowls at this but doesn't say anything – not even so much as a thank you, the ungrateful hooligan. He just returns to his work, carefully scratching in a lopsided 'O.'

            Shaun sits down beside him, idly scrolling through Wikipedia and correcting the entry on vikings while Desmond works. Desmond doesn't acknowledge this, but he also doesn't tell him to go away, so Shaun figures they're good.

            Somewhere around the top of the 'L', Desmond says, "He won't let me see my mom," so offhandedly that Shaun doesn't quite register it at first.

            "Your mum?" he says. "Your sick mum?"

            "No, the other one," Desmond snaps, and oh, he _is_ tetchy today. Desmond trying on bitter sarcasm is like a dog trying on shoes – entertaining, but not quite natural.

            "Why the fuck not?" Shaun says, putting his phone down.

            "He says," Desmond bites out, "I should be _focusing_ on my _studies_. He says school is my top priority." He punctuates this by jabbing the key so hard into the car door that it makes a horrific screeching sound.

            Shaun winces. "Give me that, you're doing a shit job," he says, holding out his hand.

            "Fuck off," Desmond responds, but his heart's not in it. He hands the key over, and watches as Shaun etches in the 'E.'

            "He's going to know it was you," Shaun says when they're done, standing up to look critically at their work. He offers his hand to Desmond, who takes it and drags himself upward with another of those charming scowls. (His palm is rough and callused and – Shaun is not going to think about that right now, now is not the time.)

            "So?" Desmond says.

            "So one of these days he's going to expel you. Maybe today," Shaun says. _Eden Prep is even more useless when you're not around_ , he very much does not say.

            Desmond shrugs. His eyes are on the car, but his gaze is foggy, far away. "Not if I leave first."

            Shaun stares at him for a moment, then laughs. Because that's what you do when your chest feels like it's cracked open all of the sudden, right? "Where the fuck are you going to go?"

            Desmond _smiles_ now, this pathetic, sad little smile, and the crack widens. "Who cares?"

            "You're seventeen, Desmond. The _law_ cares."

            "Not if they can't find me."

            "Oh my god."

            "If you and Rebecca –"

            "Oh my _god_."

            "What?" Desmond demands, fists clenching. "What's wrong with that?"

            Shaun laughs again. "Are you joking? Where do you want me to _start_? Here, here's a good place: how're you ever going to see your mum if you're _running from the law?_ "

            Desmond looks away. "I'll find a way."

            "To be sent off to military school, yeah, absolutely."

            "Altair could get me in."

            "Into military school, yeah, absolutely."

            "You don't get it," Desmond says, quiet, and it's worse than if he'd shouted. "I can't _stay_ here. I can't listen to his _shit_ anymore, every fucking night at dinner, I just _can't_ –"

            Shaun interrupts before his brain quite catches up to his pounding heart. "We could break into the hospital."

            "I—what?"

            "Altair, or Ezio...I'm sure Ezio wouldn't mind distracting some nurses," Shaun says, thinking fast.

            Desmond thinks about this for a moment. "I don't want to get anyone else in trouble," he says slowly, "if I'm running from the law."

            "Oh for fuck's sake, you're not going to be running from the bloody law," Shaun replies, ignoring the mutinous look in Desmond's eyes. "Desmond. You're seventeen. You turn eighteen in March. That's _three months_. You can wait three months to ride off into the sunset on your little motorbike."

            "You don't get it," Desmond repeats, and Shaun scoffs.

            "Oh, yeah, you poor misunderstood child, nobody else ever hates their parents or wants to run away and start a new life. That's never happened before. Ever. To anyone."

            Desmond looks a little like he wants to punch Shaun, so Shaun keeps talking, faster now. "Listen. You have World History, yeah?"

            Desmond makes an impatient noise. "I don't _care_ about World History, I don't care about –"

            "Right, yeah, I know, you're our very own schoolyard rebel. Go and tell Altair you're competing for that crown, I'm sure he'll be happy. _Listen_ to me. You have World History. I have World History. You suck at World History. I'm great at it. I'll tutor you in the evenings –"

            "I don't –"

            "So you don't have time for dinners with dear old Dad, do you?" Shaun says, raising his voice. "You're _very_ busy working on your _very_ important schoolwork. It's really too bad, it's how families fall apart, isn't it? But school _is_ your top priority, after all."

            Desmond says nothing for a while, and then he sighs heavily. "Three months," he mutters.

            "Three months," Shaun agrees.

            Together they turn back to look at William Miles's newly decorated sportscar, and then somewhere up the hill, they hear the faint sound of the bell ringing.

            "Shit," says Desmond, staring up at the students and teachers pouring out of the school doors.

            "You know," says Shaun thoughtfully, "I _could_ be wrong, but I'm thinking now might be a good time to...oh...let's see...run for it?"

            Desmond rolls his eyes and makes a disgruntled noise. But he grabs Shaun's hand and drags him along as they bolt from the Pit, so it's worth it.

 


	2. Trouble

Malik Al-Sayf avoids all signs of trouble, as a general rule. For his own sake, certainly, but also in order to set a good example for his little brother, who gets just a bit too excited when he hears the Auditore siblings' tall tales (tall both literally and figuratively – there's no  _ way _ that Federico ever jumped off of the school's roof and survived). Kadar may not always be the most sensible, but that's why Malik has to be. It's what older brothers do.

(Or what they  _ should _ do, anyway. Federico Auditore doesn't seem to share these views, but then Federico has his work cut out for him just making sure Ezio doesn't haul off and punch the wrong guy. Or go inexplicably, improbably plummeting into the nearest body of water.)

So Malik avoids trouble, in all its many varied forms. He does his homework. He studies. He does not go on the secret, Kenway-instigated camping trips in the woods behind Jackdaw Hall, and he makes sure Kadar never finds out about them.

The trouble with trouble is that sometimes you don't really know what it looks like until it's too late. Sometimes trouble looks like a fight breaking out in the cafeteria, and you can back well enough way before the first punch is thrown.       


But sometimes it sits next to you in math class one day and speaks in a low, flat voice. Sometimes it has a strange and piercing gaze, and it moves with nimble grace through even the most mundane tasks. Like slipping off a hood.

And sometimes you can't help correcting its mathematics, or mocking its dramatic arrogance, or getting an odd shivery feeling in your stomach when it settles its gaze on you.      


Sometimes, it's impossible to back away. Because sometimes trouble has deft hands dragging at your shirt, and hot breath on your neck, and –

And Malik  _ knows _ he's making a mistake, knows there is nothing good that can come from stumbling into the woods like a lust-drunk idiot with  _ Altair ibn-La'Ahad _ , of all people. But he also knows from previous mistakes that Altair ibn-La'Ahad is good with his hands, and better with his mouth, and it's not setting a bad example if nobody knows, is it? It's not setting a bad example if nobody finds out...

Malik Al-Sayf avoids all signs of trouble, as a general rule, but it's hard to ignore it when trouble steps back to look at you with that stupid, smug little smirk, those eerie eyes, that overwhelming  _ want _ ...

Altair opens his mouth to speak, gets out, "I—" before Malik interrupts him with a kiss, because – because if they talk, it's real. If they talk about it, it's  _ real _ , and he's making a  _ mistake _ , but when Altair goes quiet and relaxes into his kiss like that, like it's something he needs – Malik can almost forget. He can almost pretend this is a good idea.


	3. Courier Sidequest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik's almost to his first class when he's nearly crushed by an unidentified object hurtling down from the sky, which upon further inspection turns out to be Ezio Auditore.

Malik's almost to his first class when he's nearly crushed by an unidentified object hurtling down from the sky, which upon further inspection turns out to be Ezio Auditore.

"Hey—" Malik starts, then pauses, blinking at the student who'd just crumpled to the ground at his feet. He's uninjured, apparently, because now he's scrambling upward, doubled over but clearly breathing. "Um," says Malik. "Ezio?"

Ezio appears to be too busy gathering his breath back to respond for a moment. He holds up a hand to signal Malik to wait, then winces and starts rubbing at his shoulder. Malik waits with the growing suspicion that maybe he should be...doing something? About this?

But before he can even figure out the right question to ask, Ezio is speaking.

"Altair...says...he wants...to talk to you," Ezio pants.

Malik stares. "What?"

Ezio withdraws a folded piece of paper from his pocket and thrusts it out at Malik, wincing again at the motion. "He wrote it down," he says. "Time and place." He seems to have regained his ability to breathe now because he goes on, rapidfire, "I told him he could just tell me, but he said he wasn't paying me to know his secrets, and then I told him he wasn't paying me at _all_ and maybe he _should_ , and then he called me greedy and Federico called _him_ –"

"Okay," Malik interrupts quickly, taking the slip of paper and unfolding it carefully. There is, in fact, a time and place on it, written in Arabic.

WOODS, it says. TEN TONIGHT.

Malik scowls at the paper. "Why did you deliver this?" he says, looking at Ezio and eyeing the way he's rubbing again at his shoulder.

Ezio shrugs, then lets out a small, pained noise that he attempts to cover in a cough. "He asked."

"And you just...do things? That people ask?"

Ezio frowns. " _Si_."

"Why?"

The frown deepens. "Why not?"

Malik frowns back at him for a moment. "And...is there a reason you flung yourself off the roof at my face?"

Ezio looks at him in puzzlement, like he's not quite sure why anyone would ever be stupid enough to ask that question. "I had to catch up to you."

Malik nods slowly. "Right," he says. "Um. Thanks." He pauses, then adds, "You should probably go to the health center and get them to look at that shoulder." _And possibly also your brain_.

" _Sto bene_ ," Ezio says automatically. "It's fine."

Malik raises an eyebrow. "Great. I'll be sure to tell your brother that."

Ezio gives him a pained look. "Nooo," he says. "Nooo, that's not necessary. I'll go now, okay? I'll go, I promise."

And he trots off, a little lopsided but otherwise fine, as Malik stares again at the note in his hand. So, now the asshole thinks he can just – what? _Order_ Malik to meet him places? Arrogant piece of shit.

He crumples the note in one swift motion, gripping it tight until the rough edges of the paper actually start to hurt his palm. He's seized by the impulse to toss it into the bushes, but what would that accomplish? Altair would assume Malik hadn't gotten the message, probably harass Ezio and get his ass kicked by approximately one to three Auditores, and the well-groomed grounds of Eden Prep would gain unnecessary litter in more ways than one.

No. He carefully un-crumples the paper, smoothes it out, and refolds it, nice and neat, before slipping it into his pocket. He'll figure something else out later. The first bell rings in ten minutes, and Malik has more important things to do than worry about than the various whims and idiocies of Altair ibn-La'Ahad.

 *

It's right before lunch when Altair saunters up to him on the library lawn, all knowing smirk and glittering eyes, and it's so obnoxious that Malik forgets about figuring something else out. Instead he grabs a fistful of Altair's shirt collar, and shoves him up against a tree.

"There are people here," Altair says, although he looks amused, and Malik laughs, a harsh, angry sound.

"You think you can order me around? Tell me where to go and when?"

Altair blinks, clearly caught off-guard, but then his eyes narrow. "It was a _suggestion_ ," he says, cold. _Cold_ , the way he gets when someone's prodded at one of his myriad insecurities with the right-shaped knife. He twists out of Malik's grip and steps back, looking graceful and vicious – and above all, bewildered. If you knew how to look for it.

"You had to get _Ezio Auditore_ involved, which means everyone will know –"

"Know what?" Altair interrupts, pacing away from Malik, away from the path, where a few students have already paused, their curiosity piqued by the sound of raised voices. "That we talk to each other?"  His tone has gone flat, which makes Malik angrier for some reason.

Malik paces after him. "You know what I mean."

Altair stops, looking at him with that carefully, deliberately unreadable expression. "Not really."

Malik lets out a frustrated huff. "You know we can't let people know."

Something shifts in Altair's eyes. "That we talk to each other?" he repeats.

"This isn't a joke."

"Am I laughing?" Altair says, at last some sort of feeling creeping back into his voice, although Malik can't quite identify it. "Fine," he says, and he turns away.

Malik blinks. "What?"

Altair glances back over his shoulder. He's not even walking away, the idiot, just standing there pointed broodingly toward the mountains in the distance. "People won't know," he clarifies.

Malik sighs, shoulders slumping. "Good."

"Because we won't talk to each other."

And _now_ he walks away, leaving Malik to stare after him – but no. _No_. That's not how this goes. Malik balls his hands into fists and crosses the distance between them, reaching out to grab Altair by the arm.

"You know that's not what I fucking meant," he growls.

Altair goes very, very still under his hand for a moment, and then he turns back around slowly,  observing Malik coolly. "There are a lot of things you think I know," he answers. "Which is weird, since you haven't said a fucking word to me in four days."

Malik stares at him, incredulous. "I was _busy_. I have a _life_."

 It's maddening, to not understand what he's seeing in Altair's face, to know that _something_ is building and yet to not know what it could possibly be. Maddening to think that there's anything he doesn't know about Altair after these past few months.

"Okay," Altair finally responds.

And Malik...

He _doesn't_ know. He doesn't know why Altair is walking away.


End file.
